Shall I Compare Thee to a Tentacled Alien Corpse?
by marginaliana
Summary: Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Jack and Ianto's naughty limerick war. Jack Ianto slashiness


It starts on a whim.

**_excerpt: _**_Instant Messenger Transcript  
_

_JACK: I hope you're not putting any scurrilous details in those reports, Ianto._

_IANTO: Of course I am, sir. They're about you._

_IANTO: Don't worry, I'm sure it won't come as a surprise to anyone at UNIT. They have met you before._

_JACK: Ha! True. And even if they haven't, I'm a legend, you know. I would be even without the whole time travelling whatsit._

Ianto can't help himself.

_IANTO: There once was a legend named Jack_

_IANTO: Who said he was great in the sack_

_JACK: Oh, really?_

_IANTO: Though a bit of a twat_

_JACK: Hey! :(_

_IANTO: He could mostly be taught_

_IANTO: And his arse was so lovely to smack_

_JACK: Oh, thank you._

_IANTO: As complete an endorsement as you're likely to get, sir._

Jack can't help but respond, and Ianto finds himself flushing with heat at nine in the morning as he reads Jack's response. Jack rhymes "line of jewels" with "break the rules," but even the lameness of the lyric doesn't stop Ianto from imagining Jack's teeth dipping into his neck, pressing just hard enough to mark.

They really both have to get back to actually working so Jack signs off, but Ianto isn't ready to stop yet. He stifles a chuckle and neatly pens something absurdly pornographic onto an index card, which is then tucked carefully into a pocket. Later, he'll curl it in the handle of Jack's coffee cup, and then deliver the whole mess when Jack is on the phone to UNIT and can't do anything but raise an eyebrow. Hopefully the game will keep Jack amused and thus less likely to start an international incident just because he's annoyed with the bureaucracy.

--

When 11:30 rolls around Ianto pauses his correction of the file on Gnaxaforian music boxes and makes the usual beverages. Coffee for Owen (black) and Tosh (milk, no sugar), and tea for Gwen (sugar, no milk). Coffee for Jack, too – milk and sugar, three lumps, enough that the bitterness of the coffee itself is just a hint among the sweetness. The routine is soothing and he almost forgets about the index card as he makes his rounds. He remembers again just outside Jack's office and pauses, balancing the tray on one hand to pull out the card with the other.

The manoeuvre turns out to be even more entertaining than Ianto had anticipated. Jack actually puts his conversation with some junior administrator on hold – "sorry, urgent communication, be with you in one second" – and slips the card from the mug to read it right then and there. Ianto bites his lip and backs out of the room, the door closing shut on Jack's hot exhale of breath. When Ianto gets back to his desk he checks the CCTV and Jack's still sitting there, phone dangling carelessly from one hand, the corner of the index card tipped against his lips. As Ianto watches, he twirls the card a moment, looks right at the camera, and winks. Then he pulls the phone back to his ear.

Ianto laughs a little, delighted with Jack's smile, and goes back to his file. Ten minutes later his Instant Messenger pings.

_JACK: You are terribly naughty. Simpson was very put out at being interrupted._

_IANTO: That's hardly my fault, sir. It certainly could have waited._

_JACK: I never want to wait for you, Ianto._

Ianto lets the warm feeling wash over him at Jack's words. He taps his fingers, trying to think of a suitable reply, then falls back on good old Welsh reserve.

_IANTO: That's very flattering, sir._

_JACK: Besides, once I saw the first line I had to know what you'd rhyme with Cardiff._

_JACK: Of course you know, this means war._

_IANTO: Wait, what?_

_JACK has signed off_

--

And war is what it becomes. A competition, a game, the way everything seems to be with Jack most of the time. Jack surprises Ianto later that day with a scribbled sheet tucked into the clipboard he'd left on his desk.

_There was a young man from south Wales_

_who always kept track of details._

_He liked his cock lubed,_

_so as not to be rude,_

_though he wasn't as slick as some snails._

Ianto has to bite the inside of his check to keep from smiling at it. Jack _really_ isn't very good with rhyme. As he makes some notes towards his reply, Gwen sticks her head through the door from the lift.

"That report can't possibly be as entertaining as you make it look," she says. Ianto drops his hand over the paper and shrugs.

"Oh," he says lightly, "you know. If we can't laugh at teenage alien space tourists, what can we laugh at?"

Gwen smiles and moves closer.

"No, really," she says. "What are you working on?"

A devilish impulse takes Ianto and he says, "A poem for Jack" before he can stop himself. Gwen's eyes go wide.

"Oh. That's… that's very sweet, Ianto." She clearly doesn't know what to make of it.

"I really hope he'll like it," Ianto says earnestly. He knows he's being a shit, but Gwen makes it so easy.

"I'm sure he will," says Gwen, resting one hand on Ianto's shoulder. She's trying to look supportive, Ianto knows, but the incredulity is definitely showing.

"Want to read what I have so far?" he asks. He doesn't really want to torment Gwen and he can't keep this up for very long anyway.

"Oh. Okay," says Gwen. Ianto gives his best hesitant smile as he hands it over and lets Gwen read.

_Oh, Jack was the leader of Torchwood_

_And his arse was so hot it could scorch wood_

_Though one problem I note_

_Was he tended to gloat_

"I just haven't been able to think of another rhyme for the last line," says Ianto with heavy mock-innocence. Gwen's face makes it obvious the moment she gets it. She clenches her jaw for a moment, then looks up and smacks Ianto in the arm.

"You arse!" she says, but she's laughing. Ianto smiles, sincerely this time.

"I'm sorry, Gwen, but you should have seen your face."

"I really thought you were… well."

"Composing a tender ode to the limpid pools of Jack's eyes? Hardly."

"I'm so glad to hear it," says Gwen fervently. She smacks him again, lightly. "Get back to work, you." She drops the piece of paper on his desk, along with a pile of files.

"Aye, ma'am," Ianto says, and turns back to his computer.

Gwen's reaction to the idea of Ianto writing sappy poetry is pretty much spot in line with his own, Ianto thinks. It's not as if he hasn't had poetic, romantic thoughts about Jack. He has, of course he has. Jack inspires that in people who've only known him five minutes, much less people sharing his bed. But Ianto can't imagine whispering those kinds of things to Jack as they lie together in bed, can't imagine putting himself out there for Jack to see in so many words. He already gives enough away with his eyes, he knows, with his carefully-made coffee, with his morning choice of suit and tie.

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there when Jack's voice breaks into his reverie. "What was that about?"

"Pardon, sir?" says Ianto, turning slowly. Jack is resting his hip against the edge of the desk and smiling, and Ianto's heart swells a little at the sight.

"Gwen came down and wouldn't look me in the eye," says Jack, "and I couldn't tell if she was amused or angry with me, to be honest."

Ianto lifts one shoulder, determinedly straight-faced. "Perhaps she thinks you don't appreciate my many talents," he says.

"Oh? Such as…?" Jack raises an eyebrow, matching Ianto's blandness. Ianto stands, stepping close and leaning up on his toes to set his mouth right next to Jack's ear.

"Well," he says, "for one thing, I know what rhymes with rimming."


End file.
